


Ending 3: Neutral/Recovery

by Doitsuki



Series: Stay [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Healing, Magic, Mild Angst, No Sex, will add more tags as I figure out what to do with Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the storm comes gentle, warm rain upon a beaten mind. Legolas shall suffer no more. But first, there must be healing. And to heal, he will know pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Journey

Elrond's hands are warm and still as he touches the side of Legolas's neck. Hidden amongst the flowers, it is thirty seconds before he feels a pulse. Legolas is nearly dead, or as dead as a paralysed, brain-dead elf can be.

 _'He needs food... and to wake up, first of all. What is this magic Thranduil has put upon him...?'_ Elrond has never seen sorcery this black before. Not evil or malicious, this is different to the grip Sauron would use on the minds of his minions. Rather, it is a desperate, clutching sink of claws into an unsuspecting mind, one that hadn't prepared for something like this. How could Legolas even see this coming? Thranduil has always loved him, and treated him like the spoilt prince he was. The only suspicion Legolas had was why he wasn't allowed to go outside. And when he tried for the last time, Thranduil had had enough. Elrond peers into Legolas's murky conscience and wades through the signs of trauma and disuse. Legolas is awake. But he cannot move.

Elrond will fix this.

After a quick check of his surroundings, he realises he has little time to bring the prince to proper life. He murmurs in a low, soothing tone into Legolas's ear and detects a response, a tiny twinge of recognition in Legolas's mind. His touch provokes stiff muscles to remember what it feels like to have energy flowing through them... but Legolas does not move.

_'He is not breathing... If I do not wake him properly, he might actually die. This... He cannot stay here.'_

An alarm is raised in the Woodland Realm. Screaming and crying, Thranduil hurls orders at everyone in sight, servant and citizen alike.

**"MY SON IS GONE! FIND HIM!!!"**

Elrond waits for the gatekeepers to turn their attention inside the palace. They assume Legolas is still inside, and begin to shut the open gates. The hunting patrol out in the forest will not be able to come home tonight, not while Thranduil has every elf in his kingdom looking for Legolas.

Elladan and Elrohir draw their weapons at the slightest sound of trouble. Elrond rushes towards them with Legolas on his back and ushers them across the bridge, into Mirkwood. He knows the path, and it is a day by foot if he sticks to it.

"You found him...?" Elladan gapes at Legolas who appears more corpse-like the longer he looks. "Adar, he is..."

"He lives. We must hurry, for the horses are waiting. The soon we are away from this forest, the better." Elrond is in no mood to banter and with steely determination shining in his eyes, he sprints. His sons follow, nimble and watchful as they look for danger. Avoiding spider nests and poisonous gas clouds, the three Noldor make their way over the course of several hours with Legolas through Mirkwood. Elrond has enough wits about him to keep from being disoriented, and after sleep, food and wine he has the stamina to run for _hours_. He almost feels young again, leaping over thick roots and wet leaves. He knows his body will ache in the morning.

Dark and miserable, Mirkwood presses in on all sides with its choking, thick atmosphere. Now and then a few shouts from Silvan hunters can be heard, but Elrond avoids contact with anything living at all costs. The elves are panting by the time they reach the outskirts of the forest, and smile at the sight of grassy plains. A short distance away, three horses are gathered around a small pond. They wander closer and Elrond pats his mount with his free hand.

“Can you carry us both?” He gestures to Legolas, who is still unmoving and slung over his shoulder. The horse snorts at him. _Yes._

Three days later, Lothlorien comes into view and Elladan notes that they are right on schedule. Elrohir carries on his back Anduril, the sword meant for Aragorn to take on his quest, the quest Legolas wanted to be a part of but could not. If they do not deliver it in time, terrible things will happen. So Elrond says, if his foresight is to be believed.

The canopy of the Golden Wood filters gentle light upon the traveling group. A ray of sun blasts onto Elrond’s forehead and the moment he looks up, he is faced with Haldir, hanging upside down from a tree.

“Lord Elrond? What are you doing with Legolas?” Haldir knew Elrond and his sons were coming due to Galadriel’s warning, but did not expect to see Mirkwood’s prince. Elrond squints at him.

“It’s a long story.”

~

When the evening chill begins to seep through Elrond’s clothes, he pulls a blanket around himself and returns to his task. He cannot sleep until Legolas awakens. For hours he has been healing him. Delving, unwinding and purging the dark threads of control Thranduil once held on his mind. His hands are at the sides of Legolas’s head, which rests upon a soft white pillow. Elrond and his sons will stay for one night only but Galadriel has offered them comfort nonetheless. In silence he appreciates this environment, which suits his work. Just as a smile twitches at his thin, pursed lips, he feels a pulse. Blood surges through Legolas’s veins and he coughs, his voice a weak rasp.

Elrond helps him sit up with a careful hand at his back. Legolas’s head pitches forwards but rises soon after, as if he is determined to cast the shackles of paralysis away once and for all. His cloudy blue eyes remain unfocussed but he is breathing, and that is enough for now. Elrond gives him some miruvor to drink, paying close attention to the movement of Legolas’s throat to ensure he does not choke. He massages with warm, soothing fingers along the prince’s neck to remove the stiffness in his muscles. In Elrond’s care, Legolas does not take fright, nor does he wonder about what is going on. He can see, hear and think with the coherence of a sleepy elfling after a long day of adventures. He closes his eyes.

~

When Legolas next wakes he hears Westron being spoken for the first time, in a particular dialect he can barely understand. A dark green cloak protects his pale skin from the sun, and he sits beside Elrond’s sons while they wait for their father. To the side he turns his head, spotting all manner of folk who seem to be prepared for war. Excitement thrills his body and he attempts to say something.

Elrohir looks at him. “What do you mean, ‘ _ah’_.”

Legolas reaches out and presses his hand to Elrohir’s shoulder. “….Who… are you?”

“Ah, the sleeping beauty finally awakens!” Elladan pokes Legolas from behind, chuckling softly. Legolas twitches and can actually react to the touch.

“Two of you?”

“Twins. Elladan and Elrohir, the greatest friends you’ll ever have.”

Legolas cannot help but raise an eyebrow and smile at the fact that he can actually do so.

“You’re in safe hands.” A deeper voice murmurs from a short distance away. Elrond looks tired but satisfied in his own serious way. “How are you feeling?”

“I…” Legolas thinks for a moment. “My back hurts…”

“I will help you with that this eve, if you wish. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Legolas does not feel pain when Elrond touches him. The healer’s touch is kind, precise and smooths his tension away. There is no intimacy, and Elrond asks now and then for input. He can read Legolas well enough, and the comfort between them is mutual. Thoughts of Thranduil do not enter the prince’s mind. All he wants to do is sleep.

~

Legolas has a little more energy after a month of travels, and gazes around at Rivendell with wide eyes.

“This is your house?” He has never seen such beautiful, open architecture before. The sun warms carven arches and lush gardens rather than the lamps Legolas had known to light the cavernous Woodland Realm. Elves wander about and most have hair darker than anything Legolas has witnessed amongst his own folk. When his eyes meet with someone else’s, there is always a smile to be found. He can detect no suffering at first glance and Rivendell is a paradise for the sheltered prince.

Elrond nods and gestures inside. “Yes… Come, I will have a guest room prepared for you. It won’t take long until you have a place to stay here.”

Legolas doesn’t move. “Are you sure…? I… have a…” He stops his words with clenched teeth. _‘A home? No, I cannot go back. I… no, not to my Adar. Something is wrong with him. I will not let him taint me with his magic again.’_

Watching the emotions flash across Legolas’s face brings a twinge of pain to Elrond’s heart. He does not touch the prince, but instead folds his hands behind his back. He waits.

Legolas glances to see Elrond waiting with no judgement or intent in his face. Elrond is placid, serene and statuesque as he stands there with a contemplative look in his eyes.

“What do you think of, milord?”  
Elrond shakes his head. “I could ask you the same. I think of the beautiful summer blossoms spilling over that balcony there,” He points, but his fingers all flow in a wavelike motion “…and whether or not they should be rearranged before they fall to the ground.”

“Hmm.” Legolas has never known anyone to think of such trivial things – his own life had been one of secret passions and a fierce need to escape his father’s clutches. But now he is free, away from Mirkwood and the darkness that consumes it. He supposes there is time to observe the flowers that grow on the Western side of the world.


	2. Deserved

It seemed that the Valar favoured Legolas in the years that passed, fate bringing the prince to a peaceful life and new home. Over time he spoke to Elrond of his torments and learned pity for his father, so twisted and desperate he was. He could not hate the Elvenking, but still feared his phantom touch whenever he closed his eyes. Elrond gave him a room of his own and allowed Legolas to heal. The typical sadness of the elves came over Legolas's heart, and his eyes began to mirror Elrond's eternally grieving gaze. They grew close in those years and when the sun set on the Third Age, it was in tight friendship that they sailed together West.

 

~

 

Thranduil, maddened by the loss of his son attempted to wage war on Rivendell but was stalled by his own guards before Brelin smacked him in the head. Upon waking he was greeted by the cold, dark walls of his very own dungeons. He wore nothing save for his crown in a mockery of who he used to be.

Brelin snarled at the Elvenking through the bars. "You let my Prince escape. For this, you shall be punished."

Thranduil could only scream, froth and cry until he realised what Brelin was going to do to him. Already chained and conveniently with legs spread apart, he tossed his head to the side. Tight braids whipped against his soft cheeks.

"I suppose we will start with you." said Brelin, and snapped a coiled whip away from his belt. Several other servants murmured from the dungeon corridor.

There in the darkness Thranduil wept, forever to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp there's the ending ,b,


End file.
